


Fossegrim

by sheep



Category: Bandom, Jonas Brothers, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheep/pseuds/sheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike's on exchange in Iceland and he finds more than snow there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fossegrim

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the lovely and beyond helpful akire_yta. Written for the SDS holiday fix exchange for amkave.

The first time they’d met, Mike had been on exchange in Iceland for the semester. Two years in college and it still wasn’t clicking but at least he could get in some travelling while he was at it.

Iceland was beautiful, the seemingly endless blue-grey expanse of ocean, the long muddy green of grass fields that ended only at the mountains. He’d had to wear his hair in a (short) ponytail since he stepped off the plane two weeks ago because the wind never seemed to cease but he’d take this small indignity over the cut any day.

Mike was only living in that small cottage with two other students because of his inability to read Icelandic and ignorance of the metric system of measurement. They were closer to Keflavik than Reykjavik and it was an hour drive every day just to get to campus. 60 kilometres was a lot longer than he thought, especially on these back roads. With his original schedule, it was a trip he had to make everyday but two hours of semi-pantomime with the only admin woman who couldn’t speak perfect English and it was as resolved as Mike was going to get it. Instead of a place on campus, he got a new schedule that fit everything into two very long days.

The cottage was older but well maintained, with a red door that stood out for miles. It was the opposite of every other place Mike had ever had in Chicago. There was an actual fireplace that they chopped wood for, and a stellar view no matter what window you looked out of. The weirdest part was the plumbing. Instead of the water needing to be heated, it needed to be cooled and every now and then some poor Icelander’s cooling system failed and they got boiled alive. Mike never thought he would appreciate surviving a shower.

It was fall, and the days were getting shorter a lot faster than he was used to. Besides the obligatory phone call to his mother, there weren’t any other obligations, and he’d wanted to make as much use of the sun as he could. Mike had been wandering atop the hills, overlooking the ocean for at least an hour. He was about to turn around and head back south to the cottage, its red door like a small beacon on the horizon, when he’d heard it, the faint strains of Never Going Back Again by Fleetwood Mac.

It took ten frustrating minutes to find the source, a kid; looked a few years younger than Mike himself, with pale skin (not a surprise in Iceland), and a shock of dark curly hair. He was sitting on a dock and was obviously insane because he had two feet in the ocean, swishing around like it was the Caribbean in the summer and not the Atlantic in autumn.

There was a worn but gorgeous guitar on the kid’s lap, and his long fingers moved about it with an ease that Mike couldn’t help but want. If he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if it was the fingers or their talent. He inched closer to the dock, but his first step onto it betrayed his presence with a creak that had them both starting.

“Sorry.” They both said at the same time and while Mike laughed, the kid just looked stricken.

“You sound American.” Mike said, surprised by the English ‘sorry’ and not the ‘Því miður’ he’d come to expect.

"No, I'm sorry...I thought...where'd you come from?" The kid started and stopped, obviously flustered. It made the back of his neck flush a little.

“A cottage an hour or so that way. If you climb up that hill you can see it.” Mike pointed behind him before waving his hand a bit.

“No, I know it, I didn’t realise. I’m so sorry.” He seemed sincerely apologetic and maybe this was an Icelandic thing but Mike was starting to feel like an asshole. The kid had one hand clamped around the neck of the guitar and his other arm pushing the body of it to his chest, arm across the strings. That guitar couldn’t make a peep if it tried.

“Jesus kid, I’m the one that interrupted you. No worries. I’m Mike.” Mike held out his hand for a shake, but the kid just looked at it.

“Kevin. Sorry, I’m not used to people.” Kevin said, dragging his eyes up to Mike’s face, before looking back out on the horizon. He seemed to be breathing a little bit easier, as he released his death-grip on the guitar’s neck and brought it up to run through his hair.

“Could you maybe teach me a little? I’ve always thought about it.” Mike asked gently. He knew from Kevin’s reaction he should be saying good day and trekking back up home but he didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to.

“Umm, sure, yeah why not. It should be fine if you. Just sit here.” Kevin indicated to his left as he shuffled over. They could both sit at the edge of the dock but there wasn’t that much room between them. As soon as Mike sat down, Kevin placed the guitar between the, the end of the neck touching Mike’s far thigh and the other end grazing Kevin’s.

“I think we should start with the strings.” Kevin said with the most confidence Mike had heard yet and a small smile.

Mike wasn’t sure how or who suggested it but they ended up meeting every day Mike wasn’t in class on that dock, and even though the winter started coming in hard and cold, they still sat on that dock for at least an hour, Kevin’s feet always in the water. On the third day, Mike had thrust one foot in, sure there had to be a hot spring. Two hours later, when the feeling had returned entirely, Mike had an even greater respect for the kid, if that were possible.

“I just love it. I’ll always love the ocean. The day I don’t spend some time in her, I’ll be dead. I hope to be buried at sea though.” Kevin had told him simply when he’d asked.

Kevin and his entire family were staying there after moving around. Mike had never met them but apparently living on a boat with your family meant that having something that’s yours and that you don’t have to share meant keeping it entirely separate.

It was October, 10 in the morning, and the sun had only begrudgingly come up half an hour ago. The sky was grey and, over on the ocean, miles away, Mike could see a storm. But it was a ways off and the wind was blowing it parallel to the shore, not towards it. It felt dangerous but when Mike turned his head towards his cottage, contemplating returning to it, Kevin placed his hand on Mike’s arm. With a small smile, Kevin assured Mike, “I know storms, and this one will be miles from us when it finally decides to go to shore. Trust me.” Mike did not just because it was Kevin but because Kevin knew things he shouldn’t about weather and really anything to do with nature.

"You should just enjoy it." Kevin said as a bolt of lightning shot into the water, "feel its power in the air around you, that anticipation. Storms are beautiful, dangerous but beautiful."

“Like your ocean?” joked Mike but couldn’t help the nagging feeling Kevin was trying to tell him something.

“She’s not dangerous to me.” Kevin said softly, eyes looking off into the horizon. They sat in a long but comfortable silence, just enjoying the dance of lightning against the waves, the flash of light within the clouds. The thunder always came but so much later and never too loud. Eventually the storm moved to far to the left, and all they could see of the storm were flashes of light in the clouds with the odd peppering of thunder.

They sat in silence for a few more moments before Mike broke the ice, “Why Iceland, why Keflavik?”

“It was the musical capital of Iceland in the 60’s and 70’s. They called it Beatle Town. My parents were here then. I think they’re just nostalgic now.” Kevin smiled small and a bit sad, shrugging his shoulders

“So music’s in the family?”

“I don’t think I’ve had an ancestor that wasn’t into music.” Kevin said, smiling in a way that meant it was a family joke. He had a lot of those. Mike didn’t mind though, it gave Kevin an edge of mystery and if there was one thing Mike loved more than music, beer, pizza - if there was something Mike had always been attracted to, it was puzzles, and more importantly, solving them.

One of the bigger pieces was how he’d become such a good guitar player than 3 months of learning should have him even approaching. He’d played at the only coffeehouse that’d let them in Keflavik with one of his roommates and the reception had been amazing. He shouldn’t be this good and it was all Kevin.

He only had two weeks left in Iceland. It racked his brain the whole walk to the dock. The snow was deep but Mike had learned all about snowshoeing weeks ago and the trek was easier every time he took it. He had fourteen days, four of which he’d lose to exams, one he’d lose to travel. 9 days.

Two weeks away from Chicago and 3,000 miles away from freezing in Iceland except for when he was under that thermal blanket with Kevin and the guitar. Mike wouldn’t miss the cold, the snow, the incredibly short days or the long-armed nights.

Mike would miss Kevin though. Ice had formed beneath the dock a month ago but sometimes Kevin would take off his boots and his socks and let his toes brush against the ice. It was crazy; it was impossible. “I run warm.” Kevin had told him, pressing his fingers that had been without mittens, exposed to the wind for at least an hour, to Mike’s face. They were warm like Kevin had been inside this whole time.

At that moment, with only 9 days left, Mike kissed him. Kevin had been playing some Creedence Clearwater Revival, singing softly along to Bad Moon Rising, and Mike couldn’t help himself. Kevin had been into it for all of a second before he was pushing Mike off, flushed and flustered

“I’m sorry Mike, I can’t.” Kevin lamented apologetically.

“Why not?” Mike asked, desperate, ignoring all the reasons he knew why, as a rational person.

“I...it’s my parents.” Kevin said with a startled force and Mike knew he was lying.

"Are they religious?" Mike asked, harsher than he meant to.

“Yeah but I can’t explain it but it’d be them or you and I can’t...” Kevin insisted before tapering off, “You’re leaving.” Kevin replied quietly and that was the truth because Mike was, 14 days from then.

“You could come with me.” Mike blurted, shocked by his own sincerity and earnestness. “Chicago is amazing. This is beautiful but the Windy City has got plenty to offer.”

“It doesn’t have the ocean.” Kevin said gently and his eyes couldn’t quite reach Mike’s face.

“But it’s got a lake, a really big one.” Mike joked, but Kevin just looked out into the ocean stretching cold and wide like the silence falling between them. Finally, after a long minute, Kevin finally turned and looked Mike in the eyes.

“I can’t, I’m so sorry.” Mike would have protested more if it weren’t for Kevin’s decisive tone.

“No, I get it.” Mike dismissed, embarrassed by both the rejection and his own rashness. “I shouldn’t have just sprung that on you. I’ve got to get back; I’ve got an essay. Tomorrow, same place?” Mike rambled, standing up, the wood creaking below them.

“Tomorrow.” Kevin agreed. Mike turned and headed up the hill, snow crunching below him and the distant sound of the ocean waves.

The next day Kevin wasn’t there and Mike could feel his heart sink. In his place was the guitar and, as Mike got closer, a letter with his name on it. It was woven in between the strings to keep the wind from stealing it.

It didn’t say much, actually it said a lot, just nothing about what Mike cared about, like why and what Mike could have done differently, and if they would ever see each other again. Instead it talked about how Kevin’s father made this guitar for him so he could make music with it and do great things with it because music was powerful in ways that most people didn’t understand or appreciate. It talked about how Mike should take this guitar and do great and powerful things with it in Kevin’s stead because he was meant for it.

It wasn’t Kevin but it was, after the ocean and his family, one of the things Kevin loved the most and surely that had to mean something.

**

Returning to Chicago was harder than Mike had thought it would be but in other ways it had been easier. He couldn’t return to school. He loved making music more than anything and going back to get a degree he never wanted seemed impossible. It made his mother cry when he told her. It nearly made him go back to his original plan. But then he’d met Bill.

He'd been playing around a few local cafes and one night Bill came up after his set and asked him to join the band he was creating and everything took off from there. One EP, and then they'd been signed and on the road seemingly ever since. Four years of his life, The Academy Is, it had been crazy, hectic, and almost perfect. He didn't really date, never had the time to on the road.

Through all this travels he kept that letter. Read it over and over again when things got tough and uncertain. Or when the band became strained from too much time in too little a space with each other. If the letter wasn’t enough, he’d pull out that old acoustic. It had already been well-worn by the time Mike had started playing it. Some places in the frets had shallow grooves from Kevin’s fingers and the top of the body where his arm had rested had a different finish than the rest of the body. It was easy to remember those days on the dock when he was playing, he could almost smell the ocean air. He’d only ever mustered up the courage to tell Bill about Iceland and Kevin one night, a year into TAI, after too many shots.

“You left your heart in Iceland.” Bill had said like that was the most romantic think he’d ever heard.

Sometimes he’d go days without thinking about Iceland, and then they moved to Los Angeles. Those days on that dock had him forever associating that smell of ocean air with Kevin. Living in Los Angeles was an exercise in masochism.

When Mike had tried to convince Bill that they should go back to Chicago, Bill had turned it back on him and started talking about immersion therapy. One week later he had a mini-vacation to Santa Cruz, an island off California with a population of 2 people on it who mostly just ran the nature conservatory there. He’d be surrounded by the ocean for a long weekend, with nothing but himself for company.

“You need to get over this darling. When you come back, we’ll work on getting you some loving that lasts longer than the life span of a fruit fly.” Bill had informed him pushing a giant bag of camping gear and Kevin’s guitar in the case Mike had bought for it.

“Why are you giving me the guitar then?” Mike had sniped.

“Are you ever going to throw it away or stop using it?” Bill had asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.” It was a gift, it was his first, it was more than just a guitar. There were so many reasons Mike could give.

“Exactly.” Bill said in a way that should have been smug but wasn’t at all.

Mike had borrowed camping gear, four days worth of granola and beef jerky, a guitar, and a ride to a private airport. The plane was this tiny two-seater that shook with every pocket of air and probably took a couple years off his life. Once he got there, it was a two hour hike along a marked trail and another half hour off. William had given him a map that had been surprisingly accurate considering there was a kraken on it.

Getting the campsite set-up was a whole other story. The tent’s instructions must have been translated from one language, into another and then finally to English. Despite the frustrations of camping, William was right. For three hours, Mike had been on his own, surrounded by the ocean and the initial sting was dissipating. It even started to feel relaxing.

The sun was bright, the sky was nearly cloudless and for miles and miles all Mike could see was ocean, blue sinking into another shade of blue at the horizon. He’d chosen to park on top of a small cliff. Ten feet down there was the ocean and ten minutes from there a small beach.

With the tent set up, his stomach still roiling from the flight and no one around, Mike did what was now second nature. He pulled out that old acoustic, sat down on some rocks and logs previous campers had manoeuvred around an old fire pit, and started to play.

He went through his current favourites, singing quietly along. Like always when playing this acoustic, the noise around him faded: the ocean’s waves, the odd gull, the wind through the shrub. For the first time since moving out here, Mike felt that building anxiety in his chest ease a little, his breath coming in easier. He sang a bit louder, enjoying the way his voice seemed to carry out and away. This guitar held mysteries and powers the same way its previous owner had. That amongst the other hundreds of reasons he could name, was why he probably could never give up this guitar.

After an hour or so, Mike decided he should probably be productive with all this free time he’d been given. There was a song he’d been working on for at least a year now but it never felt right, complete. No matter how much the other’s tried to help him tweak it or even liked it, Mike was adamant that it wasn’t quite ready.

The riff was driving him crazy, crazier than the ocean and what should be a distant memory. The hook was off and the kick just wasn’t enough. Thirty minutes later and nothing was better, it might have even been worse. Mike put the guitar down, running a hand through his hair as the peripheral sounds started edging back into his consciousness. The waves were first, the wind second. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, trying to let that edge of anger go.

He must have dozed off because an odd splashing sound in the ocean below woke him up. There weren’t often seals in the area, but he’d seen the odd one out in California and they were always playful as long as you just watched and left them alone. As he approached, he could make out the small dark shape of the seal in the water. It seemed a bit big to be a seal and the sun had to be playing tricks on him because it looked a bit like a horse of all things. As it surfaced, Mike was glad no one could read his thoughts because that was definitely a man. Mike didn’t have the best angle but he looked Mike’s age, dark hair, and as the sun caught it, Mike could make out curls. The hope that swelled in his chest was just as embarrassing as the horse thing.

“Hey,” Mike called out waving. It was probably just a guy who worked at the, but at least it was some company. The man startled, looking up, hand pushing hair out of his eyes. As he stepped forward, body slowly emerging, the ocean seeming to cling to him, Mike could make out a broad shoulders, tapering to a slimmer waist. It looked like Kevin, a far more tan Kevin but-

“Mike?” Kevin called out from the ocean, his voice carrying easily.

Mike couldn’t help the grin that happened. He felt insane and giddy. “Kevin?”

“Já? I had thought...but I’d been wrong before and...” Kevin said mostly to himself. Mike could only make it out because of the acoustics the cliff provided.

“You’re rambling. I should ask you how. Isn’t California a bit warm?” Mike called out, teasingly. There were only 20 feet between them but Mike had no idea how to get down to the water, let alone how they’d get back up.

“I’ve been to warmer recently,” Kevin replied and then as if reading Mike’s mind, “Just a second, I know how to get up there.” He turned back to the water, diving in. Mike could see the dark shape of him swimming fast, as fast as those seals sometimes, out of the cove and around a bend up ahead, out of sight. A couple minutes later, Kevin popped up on the far side of the cove. Mike moved to meet him halfway and hugged him uncaring if he got wet. Mike pulled Kevin in close, surprised by how hard Kevin reciprocated, pulling Mike in even closer.

"You look good. You should stay in sunny places more often" Mike said once they'd both pulled apart.

“So do you. I like the new album.” Kevin stepped a foot back, looking hesitant for all of a second before he pulled Mike into a second hug. “It’s really nice seeing you again.” Kevin said quietly, breath ghosting across Mike’s ear before pulling back.

“You too, I never thought I’d see you state side.” Mike replied, eyes roaming over Kevin, taking him in. He looked the same, a bit older but besides the tan and the lack of clothing, he’d barely changed. An awkward silence fell between them and for the first time since they’d met, Mike could feel those years. Kevin blushed a bit under the scrutiny, head turning towards the ocean to give it a long look before turning back towards Mike with a determined look on his face.

“Where are you camped?” Kevin asked, breaking the silence and some of the budding tension between them.

“This way.” Mike said, grabbing Kevin’s hand. Mike wasn’t sure if that was too forward but the squeeze he got in return strengthened his resolve. He turned facing west before looking back, “It’s off trail but I have a feeling that doesn’t matter too much to you.”

“Since when have we met anywhere on the beaten path?” Kevin teased, leaning into Mike as they set off.

**

Mike never thought he’d feel jealous of a guitar but the fond look on Kevin’s face as he picked up his old acoustic, turning it around in his hands, did it. Mike put his hand upon Kevin’s where it held the guitar as a small warning before leaning in and kissing him.

After a few moments, Kevin pulled away and put the guitar down before looking Mike directly in the eye, leaning almost hesitantly to continue their make-out session. When Mike acquiesced, whatever hesitancy Kevin had disappeared. Kevin’s hands travelled down Mike’s shirt, finding that strip of exposed skin and letting his fingers rest there. After a few long moments, Mike pulled away this time, catching his breath.

“Of all the beaches, in all the world.” Mike breathed out in a terrible Bogart impression.

“Yeah, about that.” Kevin looked guilty and if he was about to admit to stalking, Mike wasn’t sure if he’d mind in the slightest.

“Stalker” Mike accused lightly, tucking an errant curl behind Kevin’s ear, letting his finger linger along the cool curve of cartilage. Kevin shivered before pushing the acoustic back into Mike’s lap.

“I want you to play for me and then I want you to go swimming with me.” Kevin asked lightly and Mike would have said to ‘yes’ to any number of things at that point.

“Only if you promise to stay the night,” Mike bartered, cheekily.

“I wasn’t going to leave.” Kevin said, earnestly, seriously before leaning down to kiss Mike’s forearm where it rested on the guitar. He let his fingers trail down Mike’s forearm afterwards before pulling away, putting some space between them. Mike wanted anything but. Instead, he took a breath before looking down at the guitar, seeking inspiration.

"I was going to get some writing done this weekend." He admitted, recalling his earlier frustration with a grimace.

“Consider me a sounding board.” Kevin said enthusiastically, grinning large.

“Actually, I bet you could help. I can’t figure out what’s missing in this one riff.” Mike took a deep breath and then started playing, fingers shaking slightly before finding their way with increasing confidence.

For hours they sat and played guitar, side by side, arms and legs pressed together. They were pressed closer now together on that vast, empty island then they ever did on that tiny dock. When the sun finally started to set, Kevin put a hand over the one Mike was using to strum, stopping him

“How about that swim? Now’s such a great time for it.” Kevin asked, tilting his head towards the ocean, where the colours in the sky were robbing the water of the rich blue it’d been all day.

“I can think of a few things besides playing the guitar and swimming I’d rather do with you.” Mike said salaciously. Kevin smiled indulgently but shook his head.

“I can’t. C’mon, I won’t let you drown. I may even teach you a few things.” Kevin said, mimicking Mike’s tone but adding an eyebrow wiggle. He looked ridiculous but Mike got up to join him anyway.

“I won’t drown, I just haven’t really gone swimming in the ocean since, well I was a kid. They get sharks in California. You don’t get sharks in lakes or pools. I’m very good in lakes and pools.” Mike grumped as they headed towards the small beach.

“There won’t be any sharks here, I can promise you.” Kevin assured him with a confidence that had Mike believing, just like how Kevin always knew where the storms would go.

The ocean waves looked a lot bigger in the distance but with each step closer to the beach, the water seemed to settle until it was just gently lapping at the shore of the small cove. The water was cold for the first few seconds but afterwards was refreshing. Beyond that it was fun. They roughhoused and watched the sun go down. Afterwards, as the stars came out, they let the shore lap at their feet as they caught up on four years worth of stories to share.

**

Mike was alone when he woke up the next morning. The sun shone through the tent giving everything in it a bright blue tint. In the distance he could hear gulls and the ocean’s constant strike against the shore. He pulled on his hiking boots, stuffing the laces inside the boot instead of doing them up and headed out towards the cliff, searching for Kevin in the waves below.

What looked like a rogue wave leapt and crashed down in his peripheral vision but when he turned to his left, all he saw was the telltale shape of broad shoulders and a slim waist, rising from the ocean. Kevin shook his hair out and Mike let go of the breath he’d been holding. Most of him expected to see Kevin in the ocean that morning but the doubt lingered, even now. Santa Cruz felt as remote as that dock in Iceland but LA was anything but.

When Kevin looked up and saw him, he smiled so big Mike could see it from where he was 20 yards away and waved before diving back under. The sun was playing that same trick in the water, his silhouette resembling a horse more than anything but before Mike could blink, Kevin had rounded the corner. It felt impossible, all of this, like a story he could only tell while drunk to a bar-full of sceptical sailors.  
**

“You should come meet the band. The plane was a two-seater but I bet we could make it work. I stow you away in my luggage.” Mike suggested later over their breakfast of granola and beef jerky.

“I don’t fly.” Kevin said, shuttering.

“Ever? How did you get here from Iceland?” Mike asked without thinking.

“Boat.” Kevin said, taking a huge spoonful of granola in his mouth. Mike had stumbled upon a few conversations back in Iceland that had made Kevin clam up like this. Before Mike had just brushed it off and changed topics but in the four years in between there had been enough unanswered questions to last a life time.

“We’re on the wrong side of America.” Mike pointed out, staring at Kevin until he finally swallowed.

“We went the long way round: South Africa, Australia, India, China, Argentina, you name it.” Kevin listed, waving his hand like it was nothing.

“All those places sound a lot warmer than Iceland.” Mike teased, pushing his body into Kevin’s.

“They were.” Kevin smiled, pushing back lightly until they were pressed against each other, shoulder to knee.

“You should boat in then, because I still want you to meet them. I want them to meet the reason why I’m even a musician. You could make a living off how well you teach guitar.”

“Stop it.” Kevin pushed Mike gently. “That could be nice but...” Kevin’s face got serious, edged with guilt, “There is something I should have told you last night.”

“If you’re taken, you can tell whoever it is, tough luck.” Mike said catching a lone droplet of water trailing from Kevin’s hair down Kevin’s back with his finger and gently rubbing it back into the skin.

“No, with you being the exception, I don’t really get to meet many...mainlanders and there’s a reason. My family, we’re different. I’m different. I can’t leave the ocean, not for more than half a day.” As Kevin said voice canting upwards at the end as he shook his head like he knew how crazy that sounded. Mike would definitely not describe Kevin as ordinary but crazy didn’t sit right either.

“You’re addicted to the ocean.” Mike said slowly, casting Kevin a sceptical look.

"Farðu, this is hard." Kevin huffed, looking down at where their fingers were entwined. He disengaged his hand in favour of picking up the guitar. He placed it on his lap, string-side up. There was another water drop sliding down his upper arm and after spotting it, Kevin's head snapped up to look Mike in the eye. "Watch the drop, okay?" Mike's eyes darted down, following its descent. As Kevin began to pluck the strings while softly humming, it defied gravity. The drop moved upward, paving a new path next to the one it had travelled down on.

“How?” Mike had asked, eyes snapping between the drop, still ascending, and Kevin’s face.

“We can’t leave the ocean because it controls us as much as we control it.”

"That's not..." Mike trailed off as his hand came up to graze the skin next to the droplet, trying to feel that invisible pull but instead only feeling skin, soft and warm.

“Possible? It is - you’re seeing it. We have a lot of names but Fossegrim is easiest one to say in your language.”

“Fossegrim?” Mike repeated, tone disbelieving. The word sat heavy on his tongue.

“Folklore says we’re naked violinists,” Kevin explained, head ducking a bit in shame, “Who lure women and children to the sea to drown. That one’s false, well, not entirely. We can do it but my family doesn’t, hasn’t for generations.” Kevin explained with a slight eye-roll.

“How?” Mike asked again, at a loss for words.

“Music, we can make people love us and do anything really while we play. But you kissed me even when I wasn’t playing so I thought that maybe you meant it.” Kevin said, insecure but hopeful.

“Of course I meant it. Also, you aren’t naked or a violinist so the myths have to be false.” Mike joked, mind still reeling. These things didn’t exist but Kevin, Kevin had always been strange enough that part of Mike was wondering why he hadn’t gotten there sooner – feet in ice cold water, the storms, the way he moved through the water.

“My mom is - a violinist that is.” Kevin flushed with embarrassment. “My dad picked up guitar in Keflavik during its Beatle Town days and passed it on.”

“I don’t see why you can’t join civilisation. We’ve played countless times and I’ve never ended up in the ocean.”

“I can join and now my oldest brother can too, but when we’re kids we can’t control it. My parents tried but when I was five...” Kevin trailed off, pausing. With a deep breath, he continued, “I didn’t but it was close and only because my parents never let us stray too far from their sights. I was just singing one of those stupid songs you learn in kindergarten about spiders or numbers, and I didn’t even notice. He was up to his neck in the ocean before my parents stopped me. I...we’ve been out on the sea since. When my brothers are all grown, my parents may return, but I think they like it out there. My brothers’ are itching to leave. Joe is pretty much just waiting that extra year for Nick. He’s making his boat as we speak. Poor Frankie’s gonna be on his own if I’m not there.” Kevin shrugged, plucking absently on the fourth and sixth strings.

“You don’t have to wait for him either you know.” Mike said softly. “I nearly broke my Ma’s heart when I dropped out of college but it was the right thing for me to do. I’m happier for it and she’s gotten over it.”

“He’d probably even like it you know? Being the only one, the centre of their world for a bit. He’s always trying to get it at our expense anyway.” Kevin looked wistfully at the vast blue expanse.

“Are they out there right now?”

“No, I left them for a bit. I’m 21 years old, you know. I need my space. They’re down in Argentina right now. I told them I’d join back up with them when they swing up here before heading over the Pacific ocean to Fiji. They’ll linger there for a while but most of my mom’s family is in Finland and she hasn’t seen them in years. So they’ll be back up there for winter before the ice gets too thick.”

"That doesn't sound too bad, well the Fiji part anyway." Mike took Kevin's hand back in his own and played with the calloused finger tips.

“But first, I want to go to LA and meet your band.” Kevin smiled a little, prodding Mike’s foot with his own.

“Yeah?” Mike asked, embarrassed by how hopeful he sounded.

“Yeah.” Kevin replied softly before leaning in to kiss Mike again.

“I can’t believe we found each other again,” remarked Mike with awed bewilderment, leaning down to kiss Kevin’s exposed shoulder.

“About that...” Kevin stopped again. The guilt was still there but the seriousness wasn’t, which was a relief. Kevin took his free hand and placed it around their already clasped hands.

“Did you supernaturally stalk me?” Mike asked, laughing at the blush that evoked from Kevin.

“No but my Dad you know how my dad made me that guitar. And I was the only Fossegrim to ever play it...so...” Kevin trailed off like he expected that to be enough of an answer. Mike was going to have to at the very least Wikipedia this once he got internet again.

“Okay, you may have to expand on that.” Mike prodded, pushing at Kevin with his shoulder.

“Fossegrim connect to their instruments; they are like an extension. When you play it near the ocean, the waves become an amplifier, and I can hear it. I was already nearby, and I just followed it back to here.” Kevin shrugged his shoulders up a bit and removed one of his hands from Mike’s to rub the back of his neck.

“So you did supernaturally stalk me.” Mike said, gloating, grinning so hard it was starting to hurt.

“Only because, technically, you supernaturally paged me,” Kevin said defensively.

“Pagers? Is the ocean stuck in the 90’s?” Mike raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly between Kevin and the ocean.

"Shut up, it's accurate." Kevin laughed, pushing Mike hard enough to fall off his small stone seat.

**

Mike hadn’t wanted to return to LA without Kevin, but the other man had promised to be there and given him a Marina address.

“I’ll be there.” Kevin stated for the fifth time.

“You’ll beat a plane and a taxi driver?” Mike asked, disbelievingly, trying to keep it light. Kevin had already given him the guitar, Mike wasn’t sure what else Kevin could leave at a dock in his stead.

“You’re forgetting your trek to the landing strip.” Kevin pointed out teasingly before leaning in to kiss Mike chastely on the lips.

“Even still...” Mike said, eyebrow arched.

"Fossegrim - remember?" Kevin pointed out, kissing Mike one last time, lingering before stepping back towards the edge of the cliff. His fingers, outstretched, swiped gently along the exposed skin of Mike's abdomen. He smiled one last time, infectious and goofy, before turning around and diving, entering the water below with barely a splash. Mike didn't stop watching him until long minutes after he could no longer distinguish Kevin's telltale shadow from the waves in the distance.

The whole way back, through the hike, the (just as terrifying) flight, and the cab ride, Mike couldn’t help but imagine an empty dock. That fear increased as the cab pulled up to the gate of a commercial port. There were huge cargo ships and what seemed like miles of metal containers stacked. Mike threw a fifty at the driver and got out, “Wait here, okay, until I come back out and that’ll be your tip.”

He didn’t think he could get through the gate, but giving the dock number Kevin had written down to the guard got him entrance without question. For a family that lived in seclusion, they seemed to have some major connections. The fact that he could even get in had to be a good sign. Maybe Bill, as corny as it had been, was right when he said that Mike had left his heart in Iceland. That had been over a kiss that hadn’t even gone over all that well.

The containers looked imposing as Mike followed the guard’s directions to the far end of the port. It felt like the longest walk of his life. As he finally cleared the maze of containers, he could see the edge of the dock and beyond in ocean and on the horizon LA. There, barely visible at the far end, was a small sailing ship tied up to the dock. Mike could only make out the top of the sail due to either the low tide or the dock’s height. Standing to the left of the boat, laughing with an older and extremely gruff looking sailor, was Kevin, a duffle at his feet.

As Mike approached, Kevin turned his head, as if he sensed Mike’s presence, and smiled at him brightly. Mike was still 20 feet away but Kevin just yelled “I told you I’d win.” Mike had never liked losing as much as he did in that moment. His legs were picking up speed as if on their own accord. He just wanted to touch Kevin, to make sure he was actually there, that this time, this time was different.

“Yeah you did.” Mike agreed, closing the last few feet between them. The sailor looked him up and down with a critical eye before turning to Kevin and saying something with his eyebrows.

Kevin just smiled even wider and laughed. “Yes he is. Now go be productive, and thanks again for everything.” Gruff just waved a hand dismissively as he turned around without another word and left them alone.

“I thought you might have been yanking my chain when I first got here.” Mike admitted, waving a hand toward the container maze before stepping in close to Kevin, leaving mere inches between them.

“Mark,” Kevin said, motioning towards the fading figure of Gruff, “lets us dock here and a few other places when we need to go to mainland for supplies.”

“That’s nice of him.” Mike couldn’t help the flush of jealousy that pulsed within him. It was stupid but knowing that didn’t stop him from putting his hands on Kevin’s tapered waist.

“We helped him and his crew out of a really bad jam off of Norway years ago. I think I was twelve.” Kevin explained to Mike in a placating tone but Mike could also hear the eye-roll.

“That was very nice of you.” Mike said, kissing the upper curve of Kevin’s ear.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Kevin asked, his hand gesturing towards where Mike's own were on Kevin's waist.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” admitted Mike, “I can’t promise but I think with time, it’ll be better.” Mike soothed his hands along Kevin’s hips before he leaned forward to give the other man a proper kiss. After a long few moments, Kevin pulled away.

“Mike, seriously,” Kevin started mostly determined but with an edge of nervousness. “He has a small beach house here and he said I could house sit it while he’s off fishing these next few months. I know-“

“Yes, you should definitely housesit. You should definitely stick around LA” interrupted Mike without even thinking. “Please,” he added belatedly.

“Good, because I may have already said yes and told my parents I wouldn’t be joining them in Fiji.” Kevin said, biting his lip as he grinned.

“Did you tell them through the ocean?” Mike half-joked.

“Ocean’s don’t have voicemail. That’s why we have satellite phones. So are you going to show me around or are we just going to stand here all day?” asked Kevin with a teasing smile.

“Come on.” Mike said, taking hold of Kevin’s hand and heading back towards the gate. “I have a taxi waiting that’s already going to cost me a fortune.” Mike tried to grouse but he couldn’t help the smile that was fighting its way to stay permanently on his features.

“Wait just one second.” Kevin said, pulling his hand out of Mike’s to retrieve the duffle at his feet “I’ll probably need clothes.”

“Hopefully not.” Mike smirked. Kevin looked up and away but Mike caught the smile before Kevin tried to hide it.

“Mike! I’ll at least need a toothbrush.” Kevin recovered, swinging the duffle over his right shoulder and taking Mike’s hand with his left.

“Maybe we don’t need to meet the band.” Mike hedged, as they started ending towards the cab. Bill was great and the two greatest people in his life had to meet but they had time now and four days wasn’t nearly long enough to really catch up.

“I do need to get settled in.” Kevin said, following Mike’s lead, “But we should still meet them, maybe later, for dinner?”

"For dinner," Mike agreed, "or hell, tomorrow morning for brunch."


End file.
